xxx: I gave three times to the blood group, in the child card is written 2-, gave blood for donation 4-, when the wife pregnant was given was 2+



YYY: I had to give up.

This spring, my daughter went to an infectious hospital with a high fever. In the room for 6 people were gathered patients with the same symptoms. The age of the patients was the most varied, from 70 to 13. Among them was a girl clearly not Slavic appearance. My daughter is sociable, so I immediately met her. Her name was Rose, she is 17 years old and has two children. From the last fact, my child was very surprised. I told her that Rose was most likely a Gypsies, and they were used to get married early. She advised me to keep an eye on my things. But since tolerance to different cultures was instilled in school, I was naturally not listened to. The daughter said that all people are equal, and you should not think bad about a person in advance.

Rosa was a very sociable and responsive person. She told me what a good husband she has, that he works in the collage and earns a lot. The children are now with him, and her parents are not. Only often after her husband’s calls, she went crying to the toilet. Everyone in the room looked up. It turned out that the girl was not literate at all. She could only count. And with difficulty. She did not go to school, at all.

My child asked Rose to teach her to read and write.

Every day, she taught Rose literature for several hours. The girl swallowed everything like a sponge. Grandmothers lying in the chamber only wondered how fast the schooling was going.

Everyone in the room slowly recovered and went out. The Gypsies too. By graduation, she was able to read and write in print letters at the level of first grade. I thanked my daughter very much and wished her a lot of good. She promised to give her children to school when they grow up. Nothing is missing in the room.

A few days later, my daughter was released.

A week ago we met Rose at the bazar, with the children. Two girls, one baby. She stood with a sign on which it was written in uneven letters: "Padaite on papers." The daughter shouted and shrugged her hand, but Rose did not react. Maybe I did not know. The daughter said, “Look, Mom, she wrote it herself. Even with mistakes. I have not forgotten.”

We did not get closer.

If a fool solves a problem, there are already two problems.

I work on a motorcycle evacuator, transport motorcycles in St. Petersburg and Russia. The technique is different, the road is often not close, sometimes the owners of motos tell interesting stories. That time we took a heavy pre-war German motorcycle BMW R35 to the exhibition in Peter and this is what its owner told us.

Such motorcycles were in the armament of the regular units of the Wehrmacht, and I inherited them from my father, who received them from my grandfather, who partised in the forests of Belarus during the war.

When I was a boy, my grandfather told me that the partisans struck a motorcycle from the fascists during an attack on a railway station. The German officer failed to escape, and the partisans got a motorcycle with a wheelchair loaded with staff documents.

Grandfather turned out to be the only person in the squad, able not only to ride, but also to repair German equipment, so the motorcycle was attached to him, like a trophy horse.

The partisans, dressed in German uniform, often conducted raids on the captured territories, but especially distinguished grandfather with the Yakut elephant Nicholas - a squad sniper. Grandfather sat at the wheel of a motorcycle, Nicholas in a wheelchair and they were going to "hunt the deer", so they called the "language" hunt.

Having found on the territory of the occupied village a German or a policeman who had gone away from the herd, the partisans came closer, supposedly to find the road, and Nicholas threw on him an arcana made of deer skin, which the Yakuts masterfully owned since childhood. The grandfather gave on the gases, stifling the victim's scream with a motorcycle, and in a convenient place, the prisoner was overloaded into a wheelchair and taken to the squad.

After the liberation of Belarus, his grandfather with his motorcycle was enrolled in the gun regiment, with which he came to Germany, where at the end of the war, by order of the command, he was awarded the same motorcycle with which he came to Germany. He also returned home, but the wheelchair had to be left because of the difficulties with transportation.

Such a heroic apparatus we carried from Minsk, and if his photos are interesting, then by reference.

http://motohelpspb.ru/novosti/baykerskie-istorii/nemetskiy-mototsikl-bmw-r-35

Where do you store your savings?
In the rubles.
This is a great place, no one is going to find them there.

"Burning tours to Turkey" is finally the most honest advertisement!

Just the story happened, I went to fill the tank, I approached the column, I inserted a gun, and at this time Kia came from behind, out of it comes a quick look of a lady and holding a phone in his hand, actively telling someone (presumably a girlfriend) about a guy, namely - what kind of guy he is and why he is not worthy of her in general, for the sake of persuasiveness, the speech is full of selective mat. In general, it turns out that in the gas station building she goes in front of me and, as the line moves, I realize that she does not plan to skip me forward, I tried to smoothly stand in front of her, but she specifically approaches the one ahead, while the lady continues to communicate with her girlfriend, loudly, so that everyone around her hears about her personal life. Here is her turn, she tells her friend to wait on the phone, pulls the card to the cashier with the words:
95th on a thousand, on the first column.
I intervene here with the words:
Girl, I stand in front of you.
What I get:
Where are you, fucking standing? I came first.
On the phone of a friend:
Here, there is someone without a row.
Well, I think, okay, fuck you, goldfish, you have to pay for stupidity, I turn, I go out, I wait for the end of the gasoline and leave at sunset.

P.S Commentary from the operator of the ACS: There are many such cases. And others too. The feeling that people turn off their heads as soon as they come to refuel. Some of them initially have a whirlwind between their ears.

To those who constantly remind us of the phrase "the people who do not want to feed their army will feed the army of others", I have a question: Why did you take that the army of officials and police officers is our own?

The law is one for all, another for some.

Beginning of two thousand. Grandma comes home from the store. Winter and evening. A woman in a nork hat comes to meet her. Suddenly, a 20-year-old man approaches a woman and breaks off her hat. He started running to the side of his grandmother, and that was his big mistake. The grandmother met an ugly stroke of a cat, full of canned food, on the head. They took off the hat, the men ran, turned the robber, called the police. Grandma was 73 years old, retired major, veteran of the Ministry of Internal Affairs.

Everything that doesn’t kill us...mutes and will try to kill us again.

To distort history, you must at least know it.

The Twin Age has arrived. An era, an era, a monstrous, powerful generation of twins and ignorants. No, they were before, but a few years ago they didn’t get so much in the eye. I was ashamed of his illiteracy. Now that feeling is everywhere.
They are popular. The illiterate stars. Language leaders of opinion. Unable to bind two words to the legislators of fashion.
All of these people who can’t understand the difference between “sitting” and “sitting”. Those who say “I think what.” They say “coordinate” together “cardinal” – apparently, and Richelieu in their version was “coordinate”. Those who say “I showed myself” or “I was disappointed.” They can’t forget the nightmare word “in general.” And others, many others.
They are no longer ashamed of anything.
Bloggers are illiterate. Bloggers generally succeeded in the short time of their existence to make all possible mistakes and cover themselves with any known shame, so that the word "blogger" in our society bears a disregarding-unserious shade. Against the backdrop of ponts, self-loving, theft, screws of subscribers, frank rudeness, stupidity and bitterness, some kind of illiteracy no longer looks like a defect.
But illiteracy has already penetrated the holy of the saints – in the media. The place that lasted the longest. Where there should be at least some editorial, at least some second look. No is. The editors themselves don’t know what. And fashion magazines, no – solid political publications seriously discuss the issue of the “receiver of the President”, although the word “receiver” is, rather, something from radio science, unlike the word “successor”, which is written and read in a different way.
Everyone cares about literacy. to all. No refreshment, no fresh look. The poster with Nurtas Adambay’s film claims to be “Nurtas Adambay’s film” — although the surname “Adambay” is perfectly inclined, just as well as Hemingway. But only in one case - when it comes to the male character. If it was a film of some Nurhul Adambay, then it’t have been. They don’t understand the difference, they don’t understand.
Illiteracy is everywhere and in everything. Study everywhere. These ignorants are leaders of opinion. Bloggers are popular bloggers. Non-teachers give interviews and teach others to live. People who have not learned themselves are teaching others. Time is over, god.
And here I know exactly what the reason is. These people didn’t read when they were children, and they don’t read now. And I know exactly what to do about it. I know how illiteracy is treated. If it were my will, I would have gathered all these fashion magazine editors in one place. All these bloggers. These illiterate journalists.
All these writing people, who can not be allowed to the gunshot to the text. All these young and bold. I would gather it and make it read. Not reading magazines. Not the blogs. Not fashion writers, not some foolish Coelho, not some popular Harari, who under the guise of revelation publishes a nightmare scientific nonsense.
No is.
Czechoslovakia would be read by me. Chekhov by Anton Pavlovich. Per then they would have learned that this is the nightmare construction of the phrase "crossing the restaurant threshold, there is a feeling that you are at home" (the real phrase, from the Kazakh fashion magazine) - so here, this construction of the phrase is called "anakoluf", and it was the first that Chekhov ruthlessly spotted. And that feeling crosses the restaurant’s threshold, not you, the duo.
of Chechov. by Tolstoy. Shakespeare in the translation of Pasternak and Pasternak himself. and Caverine. by Dombrovsky. by Bunina. Here is who.
I would have forbidden them from entering the internet in principle. Until they can properly apply “seat” and “seat”. Ten times out of ten. Some probably’t ever be able to do that – but for such people, getting out of the internet is only a benefit.
Yes, I would do exactly that. It is a pity that this is hardly possible.
Erzhan Yeshimkhanov

It is surprising how quickly the willful, honest, open face on the election posters of the candidate changes to the sleepy, indifferent, lulling face of the current deputy.

Xxx: Our commercial director does not drink alcohol. Nothing stronger than kefir.

Ten years ago, he had a funny case with a subtext.

He comes home from the next "negotiations", drunk to the state of "already wood, but at least not raw." To sleep on the couch in the living room, and wake up from a strong blow to the back.

In the tomb. He hits the cover, it rises, but immediately falls back. The Oret.

In short, waking up his wife and son, they observe how the father of the family in a mint shirt lies under the coffee table, pushes him up and worships with a good mate that he is alive and does not need to be buried.



Yyy: One day, a friend of mine got sick, came home and fell asleep. When I woke up in panic, I thought I was blind. Then he recalled that he decided to look at the telecar before going to bed and, so that the picture did not double, without coming up with anything better, glued one eye to the isolate.



Zzz: My friend and I once sat down, drank wine, and I stayed with her overnight. I get up in the morning, I open my eyes, and everything is like a fog, the vision is like I look at the world through the bag. I was frightened, I thought well, here I was in trouble, got drunk. I went to wash, and I see that I forgot to remove the lenses for the night. However, after their removal, the full vision returned in two hours. But I was terrified, I thought I would be blind first, and then I would die.

Vegetarians say we eat animal bodies. They eat the bodies of plants.

Problems and relationships with the surroundings. I went to a psychiatrist and received 5000 rubles. He explained everything very clearly, placed on the shelves. Give a universal recipe - send everyone and everyone in the ass. Then he said:
- To fix it would need to go for a few more receptions (type, for 5000).
Thank you, I’ve learned everything. Go to shit.

The most offensive thing in Russian sport is when you suffer for athletes, you suffer, and they in 10 years the idiotic laws are adopted.

A friend at work one day began broadcasting with the appearance of a Messiah:

- I tell you, some hormones are added to female diets or something like that!

They ask him, why did you get it? And he says this:

My deodorant was over, and I couldn’t afford to buy it. I borrowed it from my wife for that time. And when I started using them all the time, my breasts started to grow!

I couldn’t stand it, I answer him, that his breasts didn’t grow from a deodorant, but from beer with a smoked roll, which he in a recent vacation chewed in liters and ate in kilograms. So he took and offended me because I did not take his warnings seriously.

And only one of his young colleagues approached him quietly to ask, "What deodorant does his wife use?"

Not a fool, but a man with a basic mental setup.